


The Loves and Heartbreaks of Hans Rilow

by tylermr14



Category: Frühlings Erwachen | Spring Awakening - Frank Wedekind, Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Canon Era, Character Death, Deaf Character, Hanschen And Thea Are Siblings, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, hard of hearing ernst, well actually he's hard of hearing but
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-23 20:08:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9674135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tylermr14/pseuds/tylermr14
Summary: Four loves.  Four times Hanschen fell, and experienced the ups and downs that came with it.  Four times Hanschen experienced pain he should have seen coming.  Still, he fell.This story doesn't have a happy ending.  None of these relationships do.  People like Hanschen didn't get happily ever afters.





	1. Pt. 1: Max

Max was the first. The first person Hanschen loved- well, he thought he loved him. He was only thirteen at the time, anyway. But he did think, at the time and in retrospect, that he loved Max von Trenk. He was still a naive child at the time, hope still shone in his eyes. That’s what made it good. Hanschen had yet to be… broken.  
Max was a year older, but he knew no more than Hanschen did. They were figuring themselves out, together, learning each other in the process. Every, “that feels good”, or, “Max, I’m scared”, or, “don’t worry, Hansi.” Hanschen didn’t know, but this time with Max shaped him.  
Max could actually make Hanschen smile, which even then was quite a feat and since then has only become increasingly more difficult. Sure, he would hide behind a smug smirk, but that’s different. With Max, it was a sincere, cheerful grin. And Max loved that he could make Hanschen smile; he thought his bright smile, his warm laugh, could light up a room and lift anyone’s spirits.  
Despite the fact that they were only children, their times were not always full of smiles and laughter, since Hanschen had at a young age already been through things that no one deserved.  
When Max decided to try to do more with Hanschen than just kiss, Hanschen flinched way. Max didn’t understand why. Hesitantly, Hanschen allowed him to proceed. The affair ended with Hanschen curled into a ball, naked and in tears.  
“Hanschen, what’s wrong?” Max had asked in a gentle voice. Hanschen just shook his head, so Max tried again. “Hansi, talk to me, what’s the matter?”  
Hanschen looked up at him, and he told Max everything. About how he had been an altar boy, about the priest’s fondness for little boys like him, about how scared he had been then and how it came flooding back when Max touched him.  
“I’m so sorry,” Max said softly, and tried to comfort Hanschen best he could. Apologies, Hanschen had always thought, didn’t do anything, but he at least appreciated the sentiment, so for once he didn’t mind.

Max got sick. A fever, a tremendous headache, nausea. The doctor didn’t anticipate he would survive it. Brain fever, as they called it then- inflammation of the brain. Max knew he wasn’t going to make it. When he told Hanschen, the younger boy cried and shook his head, insisting that no, he would be fine.  
He wasn’t.  
Hanschen was with him, skipping school to spend as much time as he could with Max, because he didn’t know how much longer they would get. Hanschen was with him when he died, holding his hand, staring off, talking about how, someday, when he got better, they could run away, together, to somewhere where no one would tell them it was wrong. It was a quixotic daydream, anyway. And Max never got better. When Hanschen felt Max’s hand growing cold, he looked over with concern. “Max?!” He shook him, and when he did not stir, he began to cry.  
Losing someone he loved, and so young, too, was what broke Hanschen Rilow, and he didn’t know if he could be put back together after it. But he was only a child, and eventually, slowly, with hiccups along the way, he would heal- but he certainly wouldn’t let himself forget Max.


	2. Pt. 2: Bobby

In the process of trying to put together the pieces after Max’s death, Hanschen found Bobby Maler. He was several years older than Hanschen; tall and blond and not the smartest, but attractive. Hanschen was desperate, after Max. To feel again. Bobby fully took advantage of the vulnerable younger boy. Hanschen didn’t want Bobby, really. He just wanted to feel… less alone.   
He didn’t care about Bobby any more than Bobby cared about him, but the way he treated him still hurt sometimes. Hanschen missed kindness and affection.  
Perhaps, he thought to himself, he didn’t deserve it.  
After taking the one person who gave him those things, the universe gave him, in return as some kind of twisted compensation, someone who treated him like some kind of disposable goods. Bobby chewed him up and spit him out, used him and kicked him around. And Hanschen, so help him, let him do whatever he pleased.  
Bobby came over whenever he wanted. “Not right now, I’m busy,” Hanschen would try telling him. He would never listen, and Hanschen didn’t try to argue further. He just laid out on the bed or got on his knees or whatever Bobby wanted. And Bobby didn’t waste time; after he got what he wanted from Hanschen, he left almost immediately. Hanschen would be alone, again, and he would curl in on himself and cry quietly.  
This went on for months. Hanschen let the older boy use him, because it made him feel good for a moment. But afterwards, he only felt worse. He slowly became aware that this relationship was unhealthy for him, and he needed to break it off. He was terrified of that conversation with Bobby.  
And rightfully so. Hanschen told Bobby, “I don’t want to do this anymore,” wringing his hands nervously.  
Bobby slapped him. “You think I care what you want?!”  
Hanschen flinched and moved away. “Bobby, please, I…”  
Bobby grabbed him by the hair and shoved him against the wall. Hanschen closed his eyes, terrified. At first he begged him to stop, but, when it became clear that his pleas were going ignored, he just closed his eyes and mouth and waited for it to be over.  
Like always, Bobby left promptly after finishing. To Hanschen’s relief, he never returned. Hanschen was trembling as he pulled his clothes back on.  
So far, Hanschen’s attempts to rebuild were only breaking him down further.


	3. Pt. 3: Melchior

After Bobby, when Hanschen was 14, came Melchior Gabor. He was like no other that came before. He was so similar to Hanschen, yet at the same time so different. He was brilliant, he was gorgeous, his eyes glittered with a wild hope. Hanschen envied his optimism.   
It started with stolen kisses in the Gabors’ hayloft. It would be raining, or snowing, or any other meteorological event, and the boys would climb up into the hayloft, rain falling or wind howling and they would shut it all out with each other.  
For a long time, Hanschen wouldn’t let Melchior do more than just kiss him. His hands would wander down and Hanschen would swat them away. Melchior looked at him with pleading eyes but Hanschen held firm. For a long time. Eventually, he caved and let him do as he pleased, his breath hitching when Melchior unbuttoned his trousers. Melchior had rolled his eyes at him- he didn’t understand what it was like for Hanschen.  
Sometimes Melchior was rough, and their kisses were all teeth and tongue, a power struggle. Other times, Melchior was remarkably gentle, hands running over his body lightly, kissing him all over, picking him apart in the most delicate way.  
When their little rendezvous began, Hanschen didn’t love Melchior and he knew he didn’t. He was just a perfect distraction, with his not-too-rough hands and bright eyes and brilliant mind and… everything. Hanschen had been so stupid, not to realize what he was doing to him. He didn’t catch himself slowly falling into the dangerous pit of loving Melchior Gabor. He knew better, he saw what it did to Wendla, Moritz, his sister Thea… he didn’t think it would happen to him.  
But once, in the hayloft, when Melchior and his mouth were making their way down, Hanschen had gasped and said softly, “I love you.”  
Melchior stopped for a moment before laughing- laughing, the audacity. “Love?” he repeated. “Hans, don’t be ridiculous!”  
Hanschen paled. “I…” Fuck, fuck, what had he done? He jumped to his feet, pulled on his clothes and ran. Out of the hayloft, away from Melchior. Away from his stupid mistake of falling in love with him.


	4. Pt. 4: Ernst

And then, at fifteen, after everything, there was Ernst.  
Ernst Robel, he was… well, if you asked Hanschen, he would say he was everything. He was kind and his smiles gentle and warm. He wasn’t the smartest, like Melchior Gabor, but that was okay. He wasn’t an athletic kind of handsome, like Bobby Maler. He didn’t need to be. He was just Ernst, and that was more than enough.  
Hanschen knew he was falling in love, and yeah, he was scared. Scared of getting hurt again, scared of getting sweet, innocent Ernst hurt, scared because, hell, what if Ernst is straight and after Hanschen tells him how he feels, he…  
Hanschen shook the thoughts off. 

Hanschen met Ernst in the vineyard behind the church- Ernst’s idea, not his. It was a mild night and the peaceful chime of bells rung through the air. Hanschen sat with him and they talked about their ideal futures and Hanschen offered him words of warning- he didn’t want this boy to get hurt like he had been. Then, because he’s an idiot, he kissed him.  
To his surprise, Ernst kissed back after a moment.  
“Oh god,” Ernst signed after he pulled away.  
“Mm, I know,” Hanschen signed. “When we look back, 30 years from now, tonight will seem unbelievably beautiful.” Hanschen knew there was a good chance they wouldn’t get a “30 years from now”, but he was hopeful, for Ernst.  
“And in the meantime?”  
Hanschen smirked, or maybe actually smiled, or maybe somewhere in between. “Why not?” He kissed him again.  
Ernst kissed back hesitantly, before pulling away. “On my way here this afternoon, I thought perhaps we’d only… talk.”  
Hanschen felt his heart sink. Exactly what he was afraid of. “So are you sorry we-”  
Ernst, to his surprise, cut him off. “No! I love you, Hanschen, as I have never loved anyone.”  
Hanschen felt incredibly relieved. “And so you should.” There’s nothing wrong with that, this is okay, we’ll be okay, is what he was trying to tell him.

Hanschen had loved. Max von Trenk, Melchior Gabor… Ernst Robel. His beautiful Ernst. At first, he was scared, didn’t want to let himself love him because he feared it would turn out just like before. But, slowly, he allowed himself to love Ernst, bore his soul for him, like he never had for anyone before. Hanschen loved before, yes, but Ernst was the love that lasted. He loved Ernst Robel for the rest of his days, and the other boy felt the same. Privately, he liked to imagine a happy future for the two of them. He wondered: would they get that?  
But they were boys, in a time where it was dangerous for boys to love one another. And sometimes, there were questions best left unanswered.


End file.
